Paradise Lost
by anebarone
Summary: A short story about how the Companions have matured through their storyline - that may or may not involve a weird glitch that happened on my game.


Hello! First of all, thank you for taking your time to read this :3 Secondly, English is not my main language! Writing and reading other people's works is how I've been trying to improve my grammar and vocabulary, though. I'll be glad to know about any vices or mistakes I might have committed here.

About the story **[Spoilers - and awkward game glitches - ahead]**

The idea for making this came from my real experiences in Skyrim. Skjor and Kodlak are both gone at the end of the Companions questline, but after a few more days of gameplay Skjor decided to hang around the main hall again, calling me a whelp and regularly asking for his shield to be checked - although now I was his harbinger. Well, being undead and having to catch up with all the new rumors and events must be tough.

I noticed that Kodlak was still gone, though, and figured it could be interesting to write about this experience, with some adaptions, from my character's point of view.

**I've used one of my illustrations as the thumbnail for this story!** Check my other paintings, doodles and fanarts at AneDoesArt on Facebook.

* * *

Skjor greeted me as I stepped into the halls. He seemed to have entered Jorvaskkr not long ago, and Farkas and Vilkas seemed as amused as myself.

He had a mixture of dirt and blood all over his armor and skin, having lost a lot of weight as well.

- But - but, you... – I babbled - The Silver Hands kil... AELA? COME HERE NOW.

The wolf man seemed genuinely confused as he shifted his gaze to me, having lost his words for a second before criticizing "how helpless all whelps around here are."

The heavy doors from Jorvaskarr's main halls opened with a slow creak, and I heard Aela's whimper fill the halls before seeing her emerge from the yard. Her eyes darted our visitor as I was stricken by a new thought: If Skjor - or someone, or _something_, that claims to be Skjor - is back... Then maybe we would be able to see Kodlak again… And perhaps save his soul from Hircine.

Before finishing those thoughts, my legs started rushing towards the living quarters, as I shouted for the companions to try to discover what was going on.

Crossing the corridors never seemed to take so many steps, and I dived into the doors at the end of the way, reminding myself to be gentle - but ending up slamming the wood with my shoulder plates. The empty room struck me worse than I struck the door.

The hopes of granting Kodlak his deserved home in Sovngarde vanished. The old wolf was truly gone.

I contemplated the stupidity of my deductions while silently gathering supplies from the rooms, and the weight over my shoulders pinched and sank at each step taken back to the halls.

The companion's voices echoed again, as they were trying to put some sense into the new situation. Aela made Skjor sit - while doing her best to control her own emotions, I noticed. The wolf man didn't seem to be in his full reasoning capacities, and was asking around to have his shield checked – although his hands were empty. Vilkas was awkwardly balancing a tower of books containing undead lore and curses on his arms, Farkas fetched mead and bread for Skjor, in case he was hungry. Ria and Torvar started consulting the books Vilkas piled over the tables.

I glanced at Wuuthard and felt the beast within growl. The Silver Hands would pay for their deaths, and now they would pay for our recurring grief and confusion. Farkas came over, two sweetrolls stuffed inside his mouth.

- Good news, it seems like Skjor survived. - he munched.

- _Oh_. Is that so, ice-brains? – interrupted Aela's voice.

- I mean he is not a _living dead_.

- What is going on? – I asked.

- When we couldn't retrieve his body, the Silver Hands dumped him into a pit. There was some spirit left in the hound though, and he ran off as a werewolf. This is all we could extract from him so far. – explained Vilkas

- I'm starving! Fetch me more mead and cheese, whelp! – Skjor roared to me, and I complied. He was at the brink of exhaustion, and possibly roamed all alone through Skyrim's savagery before returning home. This was definitely not the time to scold him.

- We are glad to have you back, you _filthy beast_. – I jested, handling him more food. He caught my eyes for a small moment, a thankful glimpse on his deep expression lines. – Good job guys. Aela, please take good care of him. Farkas, you and I have vampires to slay.

- Sounds good to me. – He consented, stuffing an entire cream crème tart inside his mouth before we left. – It is too cold out there now, I'll need more sugar.

It hit me how proud I felt about the Companions. Those weren't the whelps Skjor mentioned anymore. He would be pleased to return to his full senses and see what we became.

_They were my pack._


End file.
